


The Fleeting Desire of a Dying Hero

by slylyaddictedtostories



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/M, Heavy Angst, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Love/Hate, Oral Sex, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-At World's End, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slylyaddictedtostories/pseuds/slylyaddictedtostories
Summary: No sane man would look twice at the one who attempted to kill them. No sane man would even think twice of blazing brown eyes, fierce and teary at the same time, deadly resolve in them, if their owner was a back-stabbing liar. No sane man would ever dream of chapped lips kissing fervently and tasting of freedom and sorrow if the woman killed them for her own benefit.But she came back for him, hadn't she?And Captain Jack Sparrow was by no means a sane man.OR in which Jack Sparrow lets the past go and eagerly welcomes a sweeter, softer death once again, at the hands of his murderess.
Relationships: Jack Sparrow/Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	The Fleeting Desire of a Dying Hero

**Author's Note:**

> I am rewatching POTC after a long while and I am blown away once again by their amazing chemistry. No hate towards Willabeth, of course, but I wanted to explore their relationship, especially through Jack's eyes. Of course I got carried away in the idea, one thing led to another and...yes, I wrote smut. Again.
> 
> Enjoy nevertheless! ;)

The fabric was soft in his hands, and her hair even softer, so different from the last time he found himself in such torturous proximity to her. Last time, her hair was whipping angrily in the sea breeze, slapping him across the face. Of course, if she would have slapped him instead of leaving him to die, it would have hurt far more less. Or not. Lately, Jack Sparrow found himself not knowing a lot of things and he wasn't particularly fond of this decidedly un-drunkenness state of haze.

And then, she actually slapped him across the left cheek.

"Focus", she commanded and he couldn't help a devious grin as his eyes snapped back to her lips.

"As the lady desires", he answers in a long drawl, leaving feather kisses across her jaw and neck.

He hears her feeble moan and remembers a time when her voice was more powerful, more demanding. When she shouted pirate songs near a pagan fire like a crazed wanton dancer, when she commanded armies into battle, when she led lawless pirates with a clear goal in mind. She was loud enough even when she spoke no words, but her eyes flashed deafening, the burning fire in her orbs blasting in his ears. Now, her voice was reduced to small mewls and silent pleas.

Curiously enough, he wasn't sure which version he preferred. 

She curls her small fingers around his long, calloused ones, stroking each ring as he moves lower and lower, leaving a trail on kisses down the veins popping from her neck. She twists her head just so, allowing him full access to her pulse point.

He recalls a time when his life was in her hands and just so he could see the fire in her burn brighter, he indulged her and smiled proudly as she was killing him gradually, with tact. Now, his pleasure arises from the realization that HER life is in HIS hands now, her soft neck exposed to his teeth. If he bites with enough force, he could draw blood, and the thought of hurting her even a bit is very alluring. He sinks his teeth in the white flesh and is rewarded with squirming and a fist clenching his hand in hers, but the moaning grows louder.

So he keeps biting. Again. And again.

The way she loses herself in him is fascinating. Ditching all her inhibitions to dance in her undergarments on a fiery beach with a stranger, trusting a scoundrel to take her to safety. He makes her lose control and he loves that. So he presses his palm over her pulsing core and the moaning stops completely, but the grip on his hand grows tighter. It's the same hand that pinned his wrist to the metal shackles. The same hand that was squashed by the cuffs in a desperate attempt to free himself. No matter, he has her trapped now and he doesn't intend to release her any time soon.

He runs his rough hands over her sides, causing her calves to flinch and her breathing to turn ragged. He even thought he detected a soft laughter leaving her lips, but he couldn't be sure. His defty hands were now almost tickling her stomach as his lips found hers and he claimed her mouth with fervency. It would appeal to his ego to believe that he is the predator here, that he is the one who is hurting her, biting on her lips and gripping her hips as tightly as humanly possible. But, deep down, he thinks the Locker might have matured him, as he somehow acknowledges the fact that he is drowning in her once more, that she bites him just as hard as he bit her and that he would face death a hundred more times only to see her eyes light up again and to see happiness flash over her face.

Lately, only worry and guilt had plagued her mind, so her face reflected the darkness within. Sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, unhealthy pale skin, she was but a mere ghost of the optimistic and fierce Governor's daughter that burned an island to the ground only to win an argument against him. When he saw her on that barren beach in the Locker, in such a pitiful state, it took all of his deranged self-control not to scoop her up in his arms and kiss her senseless. Instead, he just shot her deadly glares and poisoned quips and felt such a wicked pleasure when he saw that the small hopeful glint in her eyes that erupted when she saw him safe and sound faded again to even deeper sorrow and darker blackness. He broke her heart into a thousand little pieces and he shattered his as well in the process. 

Her happiness became a distant fond memory during their time sailing the eerie waters of the Locket, and now, clutching her body so tightly, he realized that _damn it all_ , her happiness was all that mattered to him.

_Gods help him._

No sane man would look twice at the one who attempted to kill them. No sane man would even think twice of blazing brown eyes, fierce and teary at the same time, deadly resolve in them, if their owner was a back-stabbing liar. No sane man would ever dream of chapped lips kissing fervently and tasting of freedom and sorrow if the woman killed them for her own benefit.

But she came back for him, hadn't she?

And Captain Jack Sparrow was by no means a sane man.

If anyone had any doubts, he would be happy to dismiss all claims of his sanity and devote all his rotten thoughts to the woman before him. Who needed a healthy mind anyway when she was sighing so sweetly and when such a playful smile was tugging at her lips. 

_Yes, damn it all. I am crazy, bonkers, utterly insane, but what a charming pleasure her smile is._

So he relinquished the last bit of control he had over her and dived lower and lower, until his clever mouth reached the parting of her thighs. And he couldn't help a grin as he heard her sharp inhale and noticed how impossibly still she laid now, like a puppet on a spring. Only she was never a puppet, more rather he was a pawn in her game. But, he thought, might as well serve his sentence anyway while he was at it.

He parted her legs with unprecedented delicacy and tentatively licked a strip up and down. The result was instantaneous: she gasped loudly, an uncharacteristic high-pitched moan escaping her parted lips, bucking like a wild mare beneath his lips. He couldn't help a low chuckle, reverberating deep in his throat, sending a warm puff of air over her clit, causing her to sigh again, voice quivering. She seemed so young in those moments, so delicate as if she might break if he touched her again. He almost felt bad for torturing her so, but she flashed him a wicked smile and he replied with a flash of gold of his own. _Gods, but she wasn't a delicate rose, she was sweet hemlock, poisoning him little by little._

But as he flicked his tongue over her entrance again and her moaning grew louder and louder, he thought to himself that he could drown in such sweet poison and he honestly couldn't care less.

_Dangerous thoughts, mate._

_Dangerous woman too, but he was a dangerous man as well._

He continued his ministrations, lightly exploring her sensitive bud and encasing it in his mouth. Her legs trembled and he set his warm palms over her thighs to still her. He began to suck on her clit and _Gods, she tasted so good._ She let out a series of breathless groans, biting her lips so she wouldn't scream out. The heat of his wet mouth, added to the burn his braided beard gave her tight folds, caused immensurable pleasure to flow through her, making it even more difficult to not cry out in pure bliss. Oh, but he absolutely _adored_ seeing her give up control, especially to him, so he dipped his tongue in further, circling her insides. Her breathy moans of _"Jack"_ and _"Please"_ were truly the most magnificent sounds on the face of this wretched Earth. Gently fucking her with his sinful tongue, he pressed his palm against her opening and he felt her clench under his touch. She came undone with a pained cry, writhing violently on his bed, clutching desperately at his head and pressing his lips harder to her own vibrating core. Her climax washed over her like an ice-cold wave, sending her over the edge, mewling helplessly and trembling in bliss.

_Yes, indeed, he quite loved seeing her lose control._

He raised his head up again, slickness covering his condescending smirk. She met him halfway, their tongues battling for supremacy, dancing fiercely between their wet lips. Soon enough, though, he realized that, shockingly, he was tired of it. Tired of fighting, tired of trying to overpower her. She was a Valkyrie, a goddess, a man-eater. He had no business toying with something as holy and as devious as her. So he finally, after _such a long time_ of fighting, gave up.

_Completely._

Then and there, he decided that he would let her do anything to him. Kiss him, tease him, kill him, claim him. Whatever. His life was hers and, maybe, in another world, he could say his heart belonged to her as well. In this blasted reality, the fact that he, the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, was too much of a _coward_ to admit it out loud, much less to her face, remained a sour truth that he wasn't ready to admit just yet. But even he knew that his heart had been in her hands ever since she gracefully stepped on it on the empty deck of a sinking ship.

He gently switched their places, lifting her up over his waist and setting his back on the mattress. He wasn't sure of himself enough to do this next part and to support himself only on his arms, not when he felt like he might just _die_ again if she pressed against his length like _that_ any longer.

_Captain Jack Sparrow, unsure of himself._

_Oh, how the mighty fall..._

She straddled him, stroking his chest with trembling fingers, tracing the outline of his tattoos and scars. He stroked her arms, trying to guide her forward, because _oh, he knew she would be the death of him, but the anticipation was a much crueler demise._ Then, without warning, she slid herself over him, all the way down in one swift try and he couldn't for the love of him silence the strangled gasp escaping his throat, try as he might. She began gliding up and down at a maddening pace, lowering her mouth down to his, silencing his ragged breathing with her tongue. She was swirling their lips in a vortex, riding him like a mad Amazon and suffocating him with her mouth. When she did a particularly apt rotation, he bucked beneath her thighs, raising his head up to hers and began kissing her neck fervently. But his kisses were hot, wet and sloppy, her hands roaming his marred back and his palms stroking her overly sensitive bud again. She was rocking faster and faster and he _knew_ this was beneath him but _Gods, the things she was doing to him,_ so he whined softly against her neck and _felt_ his death approaching.

He had felt it before, of course. One wrist aching from the cold metal of shackles pressed against it, a sly grin gracing his lips, whispering what he thought was a condemnation, but, in fact, was the highest praise he could offer her.

_Pirate..._

_You're a good man, Jack.._

Yes, he was a good man and she was a sinner, riding him like a commander pushing his horse into enemy blades. He had felt death before, the adrenaline surging through his veins like lightning, fear turned to a delicious rush of knowing that she _lied,_ that she _was_ sorry, and that he was _proving her wrong,_ raising his sword and facing the Kraken. He wasn't the coward she chained to the mast, he was _Captain Jack Sparrow, the myth, the legend, the man._

And, now he was coming undone at the hands of Elizabeth Swann. 

He threw his head back and felt himself clench inside her, her insides feeling delightfully wet and warm. They call it _"little death"_ for a reason and he would very happily oblige to be killed just so, every day for the rest of his life, thank you very much. She screamed and when she began chanting his name like a prayer only he could hear, he embraced her shaking form and groaned impossibly low, burying his face in her chest.

Elizabeth Swann just murdered him again, but this time, Heaven awaited.

_About bloody time something good finally happened to him..._

He was shaking slightly as blinding hot pleasure flowed through him, a tidal wave sweeping all rational thought from his mind. There was no bed, no cabin, no _Black Pearl,_ no ocean, no sky, no horizon. Only her. _Her._ _The Pirate._

"Elizabeth..."

And then she stopped, frozen on his cock, still as a statue, looking down at him with large, bulging, angry blue eyes.

_Blue..._

_Her eyes are brown. And she would_ never _relinquish control like this._

_How much of a fool could he have been?_

"Who the hell is Elizabeth?" the woman atop him asked, her shrill voice raising dangerously.

_Now you've done it, old boy._

"No one, love," he said cheekily, putting on his flashing trademark smirk, attempting to capture her mouth again.

 _He should have known_ she _wouldn't taste like this._ She _would taste of open sea and freedom, not stale rum and homey fire._ She _was cold and ice and would never let him do this to her._

_He was beneath her. Just a pawn, a toy, a story that didn't turn out as exciting as one might think._

_Because Jack Sparrow wasn't a captain, he was just a man afraid of dying._

"I'll bet my bloody dress it's no one, you absolute toe-rag!" she yelled, pushing him down again and scrambling off of him. "I don't do married men, you rascal, I ain't meddling in family business."

He wanted to laugh so hard, his insides hurt. Maybe that's what feels like to be empty and hollow and still look for a mundane proof of living, such as laughter. Laughing with a broken heart is apparently more difficult than it seemed. 

"I ain't married, love. My first and only love is the sea."

Strangely enough, her expression softened just a smidge.

"You scoundrel... if you think of a woman _that_ much and you won't admit why, you're in trouble," she bit back, gathering her belongings and storming out of his cabin. 

*****************

Jack Sparrow had felt cold before, many times. Countless times. 

Sailing through snowy seas, sitting in damp jails, turning the _Pearl's_ helm during raging storms and hurricanes, facing the chill of the Kraken's breath, feeling the emptiness of a desert at the end of the world knowing that he would spent eternity without punishing his murderess. Or finally telling her he loved her. Whichever came first. But the hollowness he felt now, the cold claws gripping his chest, the numb haze of his mind and heart... it was colder than anything he had ever felt before. 

Staring off into the night, he downed half a bottle of rum in one swig. The chilly breeze could help sober him up and he knew that, perfectly awake, he would be so empty inside that he might just push the barrel of the gun down his throat and be done with it all. Just a curl of his fingers on the trigger and his brains would be scattered on the deck in a bloody mess. Much like the way it felt now, only then it would be permanent. And far more gruesome.

He resisted the urge to vomit at the thought and realized that the rum felt like sand on his tongue. How many bottles did he have until now? 5? Or 6? No wonder he mistook the prostitute for _her._

But deep down, below the alcohol clouded judgement, he knew that no amount of rum would be an excuse to objectify _her_ like that or to mistreat a woman, be her a whore or not. His mind was foggy and in a sort of obtuse haze that allowed no coherent idea to form, but his heart was so painfully awake and aware that he was _very_ tempted to pull out his cutlass and tore it out from his chest, all beating and alive and _so very bloody annoying._

It wouldn't be the first time he'd stab a heart. He did it for the boy, who had _also_ betrayed him. He did it for _her,_ so that she would not lose more than necessary. He saved them for himself, knowing that he couldn't possibly bear to live another day knowing that he was the coward she so despised that she saw fit to kill before he would do any damage. 

_How very selfish of him..._

He saved them so that he could live with himself after all this. But when they floated up in the sky, over the boiling waters and the stormy waves, just the two of them on a soaring rope, her hands clutching so desperately to him as if he were her lifeline, he felt like _a hero._ And in those moments, he forgot all about Jones and the _Pearl_ and immortality. It was just her and the indescribable feeling of satisfaction that he was the hero she grew up believing him to be. _He saved her._

_But he wouldn't save her a second time._

_She would condemn him again and again and he wasn't_ that _brave to face the rest of his life fearing her. He couldn't dedicate his entire self to someone, he was still a pirate after all._

So he abandoned her on that beach, utterly and completely alone, left barefoot on a deserted island with nothing but a morbid chest to keep her company. He would probably slit his throat than live in such conditions if he were in her place. She was a creature of the sea, just as much as he was. She would never belong to him, just like he would never belong to her. He admired young William for the blind courage of entrusting her with his heart, but he would never be able to achieve such a level of nobility.

_We're devils and black sheep, we're really bad eggs.._

What began with racing hearts beneath the sea and blazing flames on a beach ended with cold, stoic, civil stares and cages for both. So the more he thought about it, the more appealing was the idea of ending it all with a bang, just so he could feel _something._ The numbness was eating him alive and he would refuse to be an empty shell of a man. If he would go down, he might as bloody well go down with all senses tingling and pulsing with life. 

He finished the bottle and, smashing it loudly on the deck, he pulled put the pistol from his belt. A mad grin blossomed on his face and, stroking the trigger, he began raising his hand...

"Ah, Captain, we've been looking for you!"

He suddenly felt like crying. His eyes were stinging and he blinked at a blinding speed before turning around so abruptly that he caused Gibbs to bump into Pintel who then bumped into Ragetti, all three of them looking at him with a weird look in their eyes.

_Fear_

He raised an eyebrow, gesturing wildly with his left hand for them to go on with their inquiry, his right hand glued to the pistol. He was so very terrified of letting it go, of letting it slip from his hand, as if the gun were _her,_ who also abandoned and left him bare-handed. 

"Capt'n, we need a heading so that we may leave. We've looked for you but assumed you may have been... otherwise engaged," clarified Pintel, a sly broken-toothed grin adorning his face at the last words. 

"Engagements were said, done and finished with in the matter all engagements are finished should one desire to finish them so," he spoke rapidly, confusing the three pirates even further.

"Then, what be our heading?" asked Gibbs, unaware of his captain's discomfort with the word _"engaged"._

He rolled his eyes in such a tired and exhausted manner he seemed ten years older and he forcefully pushed the pistol back in its holder, then pulled out his compass, the object that he so dreaded and yearned for. He weighed it a bit in his hands, recalling the feel of _another's_ hands, smaller and finer, holding tightly to the lid, putting all her faith in him.

_But he wasn't a hero, he was a pirate._

_An she wasn't some weak, fragile lady, she was a pirate as well._

_The Pirate King could save herself from that minuscule island if she so desired._

_He would not be her hero when she could bloody well save herself._

He opened the compass that popped aggressively around his dirty fingers and watched as it spinned maddeningly in angry circles until it finally stopped, facing backwards.

_Gods, he wouldn't be caught dead back on that beach._

Then the compass spinned again, much slower, and tentatively pointed North. He shut the lid quickly, before it got the chance to spin again, and barked out the orders at his men. As soon as they left, he felt worned-out and weary and so very sick to the stomach. Must have been the rum, he decided, as he stroked the _Pearl's_ helm and looked stoically ahead.

"Bring me that horizon," he whispered into the night.

_She could sail the world by your side, you know._

_She is married._

_Still, you didn't even ask her._

_She belongs to him. He is her husband. Bound to him for eternity._

_No, she doesn't belong to anyone. Much less to you._

The black ship sank into the darkness of the sky melting in the sea. There would be no looking back now...

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this ended up being more depressing than I would have thought...anyway, I really hope you guys like it and please PLEASE, review and comment. I welcome feedback of any kind, as long as it doesn't spread unnecessary hate :)


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